


Where you walk, I can follow.

by TayBartlett9000



Category: British Royalty RPF, Historical RPF, The Tudors (TV)
Genre: Anne Boleyn as a ghost, Death, England - Freeform, Execution, F/M, Historical, History, Love, Loyalty, Queen - Freeform, Sadness, ghost - Freeform, mentions of Jane Seymour, super natural - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:14:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24604504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TayBartlett9000/pseuds/TayBartlett9000
Summary: Henry  the eightth is now married to Jane Seymour, but even as he enjoys married life with Jane, the ghost of Anne Boleyn still  walks the corridors of Hampton Court. Although  she knows that it was he who put her  to death, she cannot resist loving him still.
Relationships: anne boleyn'henry VIII of England
Kudos: 13





	Where you walk, I can follow.

I am made of nothingness now. My bones rest beneath the ground. My heart lies with them. My spirit, broken as it may be, is carried forth on the wind. Though I am buried and even though my Henry has moved on, I am very much alive.

I was not sure what I had expected from death. Had I expected to arrive at the pearly gates of heaven? Had I expected a cold nothingness, an endless sleep uninterrupted? I do not know. I do know one thing though, my spirit is still somehow tethered to the mortal relm. Something is keeping me from ascending unto heaven. Something is keeping me here, bound to the Earth.

I believe that this state of existence is thought of as ghostly, super natural. Am I a ghost? Apparently I am. But how can that be possible? I always believed that ghosts only existed when the person in question had vengeance to be saught upon someone living and I do not think that this is the case for me. Whether that is the case or not however, it appears that I am a ghost. I am able to see, able to feel and yet no one, be they noble or commoner is able to see me. I can move without being seen, without being heard. Even when surrounded by people, it is as if I am entirely alone. It is a lonely existence, this gliding unseen through the court, the court that I wish to exit but cannot bare to leave behind me.

I do not know for sure how much time has passed. I remember the final moment, the moment in which my head was struck from my shoulders, a mercifully quick death. Henry had brought a trained swordsman over from France. It make me think that perhaps he may have taken pitty on me, that he had decided upon mercy. . The notion of that brings me both comfort and pain. The king evidently desired a quick and easy death for me and this brings me comfort. But every rose has its thorn, does it not. The sweetness of a quick death is tempered somewhat by the fact that Henry, my beloved Henry, must have sent for the French swordsman weeks or even months before my death. That can mean only one thing. Henry had been planning my death. My beloved husband must have wanted me dead a long time before the deed was done. That is one of the things that I cannot live with. I tried my best to be faithful. I loved the king more than I have ever loved anyone. Those who befowled my name and called me a whore were wrong. I loved no one else but the king all my life long. The fairy tales that speak of love at first sight come to mind, for my first sighting of the king had decided my fate. I have loved him since that single moment and though he seems to have placed myself and our marriage firmly in the past, I live with it still. Of course I do. Now that I am made purely of spirit, I can glide from room to room, from palace to palace and I know this to be the truth. Henry has found joy in the arms of Jane Seymour. I have been forgotten, placed aside like a broken doll that one has not the heart to mend. I used to think that I would never be forgotten. I used to think that the king would love me forever. Oh how very wrong I was. Not only have I been forgotten, but people seem glad to have forgotten me, another thorn in my side.

It is a difficult thing, living as a shadow upon the Earth. I CAN ENTER THE GREAT HALL BUT I DO not have the ability to sit and eat with the people who I used to know, the people who used to cater to my every passing whim. I can enter the ball room but I am not permitted to dance with anybody. I used to love dancing. Henry once danced with me often. Now, I have only the ability to remain hidden from the eyes of everyone I once knew, present in the room but entirely alone as I watch my king dancing with the wench, Jane Seymour. Now I can see everything, but no one notices me any longer. I am set apart from everything.

There was a time in my life when I felt like the very centre of the universe. I was the queen. I was beloved, though devisive. The king noticed every move I made back then. Now I am invisible. In life, I wielded power. So great was the king’s love for me that he created an entirely new religion just so he could marry me. So powerful was our love that the king broke with Rome so we could be together. Alas, I was unable to repay him for his efforts, or so he told me. He wanted a son. Henry wanted a son more than anything and I was unable to give him one. In this, I was as much of a disappointment to him as Catherine was. She bore him a daughter and I believe that when the king married me, he was of the belief that I would change things for him. His marriage with Catherine of Aragon was cursed. That was what Henry told me. It was because she was once married to his older brother before she was wed to Henry. I knew not whether it was true or whether Catherine’s many miss carriages were in fact just bad luck and not a punishment from God. Nevertheless, I proved no better. A daughter. That was the best I could do. A beautiful daughter who I think of with pride, but a daughter nevertheless. A daughter was not what Henry wanted and after a while, I fell out of favour with his majesty. He had turned his attention to Jane Seymour and now it seemed as if she was preparing to bear him the son he so desires. Even though I like the woman not, I want her to succeed. If she does not, then I am sure that the king will cast her aside as he did for me and move on with another woman. It seems to be a developing pattern of his. 

I am standing in the corridor of Hampton Court, outside the king’s bed chamber door. I have walked this stretch of corridor many times, both in life and in death. I come here now just so that I can gaze upon the king’s face. I should not be here, I know that. My marriage with the king ended when he put me to death. He forgot about my intense and ever lasting love for him when he brought Jane Seymour into his bed, replacing me without a second thought. I should leave him now to his new wife and to his dreams. I am no longer welcome. I am no longer wanted. The name of Anne Boleyn rings of nothing but negativity now that I am gone. No. I should not be here. And yet… And yet I want to see him. I want to look into my husband’s face. I want to see his face one last time. And then I will go. I am tired of walking these corridors unnoticed. I am tired of gliding soundlessly through the very walls of the king’s many palaces. I am tired of following the desires of my aching heart and walking the king’s footsteps in his wake. I know that he cannot see me and perhaps this adds to the thrill of my actions. I can follow wherever the king goes. Where he walks, I can follow. But I can stand it no longer. I cannot remain in court for another night. To stay here will do little good. The more I see Henry’s face, the more I am reminded of what might have been. The more I see his face, the more I imagine a life I would have had if I had born him a son. If I had born the royal prince that my husband had desired, he would never have even considered putting me to death and I would never have been forced to walk the corridors of the king’s palaces, able to do nothing but watch the activities of the court that was once mine playing out before me. To continue in this fruitless activity would cause me to feel nothing but further heart ache. I will leave tonight. I will take one last look at the man I love and then I will leave Hampton Court forever, never to return.

I do not have to open the door in order to enter Henry’s vast and spacious bed chamber. I simply pass through the door as if it is made of air rather than solid oak. And then I am inside the bed chamber of my husband.

This is the bed chamber that I slept in so often, though one look around the room is enough to tell me that Jane Seymour sleeps here now. The room is almost entirely dark. Only a sliver of silver moonlight can be seen shining into the bed chamber from a gap in the drapes.

I glide over to where the king sleeps, walking as if on empty air as I make my way towards him. I have done this more times than I can count. I cannot help myself. I SAY AGAIN, THOUGH THE KING HAD forgotten me, his ever faithful and ever loving Anne had not forgotten him. His faithful Anne still adored and cherished his every aspect and if I was able to speak, I would tell him so. But I cannot speak. I can only stand there and gaze down upon him.

It is a face that I know so well and love so much even though it is due to him that I am in this ghostly form in the first place. It is a peaceful face, a face that is warmed by a smile. I know that the smile is for Jane Seymour and not for me, though I wish it was. He hasn’t smiled at me in a long time. He hasn’t smiled at me since I lost our baby boy. He seaced his love for me then, I believe. But I have not seaced loving him, not by a long stretch. It is an oft spoken phrase but I cannot help but think that if I had a heart, it would be beating right out of my chest at this moment. It matters not what Henry has done to me. I still love him dearly and I suspect that I always will do. And he’ll never know it. He’ll never know that his Anne Boleyn was faithful. The lies that dogged my footsteps hold no truth what so ever. I did not bewitch the king. He bewitched me.

He stirs and instinctively, I step backwards before remembering that he is unable to see me. I step forward again, noticing that Henry’s eyes are open and staring directly at me. Can he see me? My mood is somehow lifted by the mere fact that he appears to be looking at me.

“Anne?”

The voice is a whisper. It is a horse whisper, a fearful whisper that shocks me to the core. I have never before heard fear in the king’s voice. He is the king. Nothing can frighten him. Fear is for a lesser person than the anointed king of England. But he sounds frightened now, frightened of me. Even as my name dies on his lips, he is still staring at me as if he has never seen anything so terrible and terrifying in all of his days. He can see me. I am sure of it. His hand now lifts from beneath the bed clothes as if he yearns to touch me. His hand hovers in mid air, his eyes wild. I do not know whether I should take that hand. That hand signed the order that put me to death. I look into the king’s eyes again and notice the sudden vulnerability there. I can resist him no longer. I reach out and take that hand.

I can feel the warmth of his fingers in mine but know not whether he is aware of my holding it. I have no physical form any longer. I cling to his hand in any case and remain rooted to the spot for a few moments longer. For a moment, I forget everything that happened between us. I forget that he cast me aside. I forget that he chose another woman to stand in my place. I forget that it was he who decided that his once beloved Anne should be put to death for a crime that she did not commit. In that moment, I am not his fallen wife. In that moment, the king and I are together as if he and I are the only two people now awake in this world.

The king is still gazing at me with what is now a mixture of fear and auh. He says nothing more. Perhaps he cannot think of anything to say. Maybe he is feeling guilty. He certainly has enough reasons to feel this way. I would feel tremendous guilt had I caused another person’s death. I cannot imagine how it would feel if I woke to see the ghostly form of a person whom I had put to death. I should go now. I don’t want to bother the king any longer. I let go of his hand and it falls to the covers once again. He turns his head away as I glide backwards and towards his bed chamber door. I reach the door and glide through it once more. I shall leave now. I have no business remaining in Hampton Court any longer. I have seen the king one last time and I do not want to see his face any longer. 

And so I leave the palace of Hampton Court, going God only knows where. What will I do? I do not know. Maybe I will be able to find a way to return to heaven, my rightful place in this complex universe of ours. Maybe once I manage to get to heaven, I will finally be able to find peace. And then another thought occurs to me. Once I get to heaven, I will be able to wait for the king to return. When he arrives in the kingdom of heaven, I will be waiting for him there. I will meet him once again, in heaven. If I am able to get there that is. 


End file.
